Track to an Impossible Forever
by Arleigh Quinne
Summary: Dave finally gets what he wants from Bro, just to have it stripped away all over again. Can they both realize their mistake before they lose each other for good? Crap summary, I know. Dave's POV for the first chapter. Stridercest. Character death later on. Rated for a reason. You have been warned.
1. Chapter 1

Well, this is my first fic -ever- so I hope I did it justice. Sorry for any OOC-ness, but I can guarantee that I went through the effort of researching information for the later chapters. So, you nit-pickers (I mean this nicely, I really do) that read this, you can be put slightly at ease over that fact, because it would bug me, too.

Warning: Mature content and language, hence the rating. Also, Dirk is older than Dave. Character death in later chapters. MaleXMale, hot incestual loving ahead, so if you've got a problem with it... too bad. You don't have to read it, then.

Disclaimer: I, obviously, am not Andrew Hussie, nor do I claim to be. I've just got a sick little mind that created this story using his characters.

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Track to an Impossible Forever

As much as I wish I could deny it, I can't. I stayed up. Again. Waiting for Bro to get back from that late-night job he has as a DJ at some sleazy, hole-in-the-wall bar. Even though it isn't Bro's dream-job, it's enough to pay for the rent of our apartment.

At 3:48 A.M., like clockwork, Bro comes silently through the front door, reeking of alcohol, sweat and cheap perfume. Go figure, he fucked another two-bit slut that came onto him in his booth. If it were the cool thing to do, I'd call him out on it. How he beds a different person every single night. But, really, it's the furthest thing from cool for me to do. So I don't. I just bite back every ounce of emotion, hiding it behind the facade I've perfected over the years and my totally ironic shades.

I watch him maneuver through the obstacle course of shitty swords and smuppets that litter the floor of the apartment as he makes his way to the futon in the living room. I've never understood why he sleeps there instead of his room, but whatever. Bro's a mystery like that. A big, ironic mystery. That's really fucking sexy.

Yes, I'll admit it. Only to myself, though. I'm envious of every person that gets to touch him, to breathe the carbon dioxide he exhales, to listen as he lets just that bit of composure slip while he's caught up in pleasure, even though nobody else notices the change. I just know that I would, though. Of course, he'd never even think of bedding me. Why would he? I'm nothing but his kid brother that can't even get the upper hand in our roof-top strifes unless he hands them to me...which he never does.

For some reason, though, tonight just seems different. Maybe it's because I've put up with this shit for so long, or the fact that Bro shouldn't be with anyone else. I don't even know anymore. I'm just sick of it. Sick of not being able to be with him like I want to, and tired of watching him come back day after day from being with some random person that doesn't know the first thing about him. It's maddening. And to be truthful, if I weren't a Strider then I'd make it known to the whole damn world that Bro is mine, and mine only. But, I am a Strider, and because of it I have to keep up the ironic cool-kid act. All the fucking time. So instead, I just stand here in my doorway, watching as he lights up a cigarette and sits down, turning the t.v. to some paid programing show. I know he's not paying any attention to it.

I turn back into my room and shut the door quietly. Passing Lil' Cal, I give him the necessary fist-bump before his creepy ass ends up on my chest while I'm sleeping again, and make my way to my bed. I don't sleep, though. I never do while I can still hear the droning of the voices on the television. I just sit there and stare out my window, watching the lights of the other buildings flicker and glow too brightly. Since I'm going to be an insomniac for a while, why not make it productive? I cross the room to my turntables and decide to rehash some of my older mixes, throwing in new beats to give them a different edge. The bass is loud enough that I can feel it reverberating through my sternum, keeping beat with the percussion. I raise the pitch slider for a few seconds before sliding it back down, listening as the songs blend. I make sure the speed is steady and allow myself to relax. This is my element, a safe zone.

"Dude. What the hell. Do you have to have it up that loud?" Bro's voice behind me all of a sudden almost made me jump. Almost. I mean, really, Striders don't jump when they're scared. Because we don't get scared.

"Yeah, I do. My headphones are shot until I can get a new pair, remember? Oh, that's right. You were too busy planning out what tracks you were going to play for your shift so chicks and dicks alike would come to you for sex to actually pay attention. My bad, Bro. I forgot." ...wait. What the fuck did I just say? Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit. I just let my mouth walk me into a fucking back alley with a neon sign pointing out just how much of a fucking idiot I am. At least I'm not facing Bro. He can't see how fucking terrified I am. Even with my shades on, I'm sure I'd be an open book to him.

Silence. While I'm internally cursing myself to the deepest, most gruesome parts of hell, everything else is quiet. Bro's not making any sound, which means he either left the room or he's pissed. I'm betting on the second one.

I school my features and turn around slowly, like I had meant to say all of that and everything was going according to my plan. Bro wasn't there, though. He had been, I know he had been. But he's not there now. Where is he? I glance to my side and see Lil' Cal staring back at me, grinning like the creepily cool dude he is. Giving up on trying to figure out where Bro went, I close my eyes and face my turntables again... to find Bro. I should have expected it. Really, though, my heartbeat starts a fucking double time. Not that it showed. He smirks anyways, though, as if he just knows what his very existence does to me. He doesn't, though. He can't.

"So... I plan to give people a good time? That doesn't sound that bad to me, little man." His tone is even, borderlining on monotone. Damn him.

"You know that I was talking about how you go out and fuck people that don't deserve you. Why would you ignore what's right in fucking front of you just to get in the pants of some two-bit slut that doesn't know shit about you other than the fact that you work at the bar they just so happened to get wasted in?" Yet again, the anger and jealousy comes rearing up, and common sense is shoved to the fucking back of the picture, cowering behind the small bit of rationale that's keeping me from flat-out professing my undying love for the one and only Dirk Strider in my blood.

"Are you trying to say you're jealous, Dave? Do you wish it was you that got to work behind that booth and get the attention of everyone? Or..." At this point, I'm hoping for some kind of messed up miracle, like John bursting in randomly claiming his feelings and stating that he is, indeed, a homosexual. Anything to stop whatever accusation Bro is gonna throw out next. Of course, luck isn't on my side, and his mouth open slightly to continue his assumption. "...is it that you're envious of all of those people? For getting to be so close to me..? That's it, isn't it. You aren't jealous_ of_ me, you're jealous_ over_ me. Dave, I never knew you cared." The sarcasm in his voice for that last sentence simultaneously makes my blood boil in my veins and sends my heart crashing through the floor. Of course. He thinks it's some sick joke.

"Nope. It's not anything like that." I have never in my life been more thankful that my voice can stay even regardless of how fucking freaked out I am than right now. I somehow keep a straight face and just stare back at him, trying not to think of the eyes behind those shades, the ones that are trying to find a crack in my mask to poke and prod at, to make me come unravelled.

"Is that so... Then, I guess this won't do anything for you." With that, his lips are pressing against mine. My eyes widen behind my shades and my breath hitches in my chest. How could this not do anything for anyone? As he starts to lean back, my body shifts forward, keeping the contact between our mouths going. I feel the corners of his lips turn up just the slightest amount before his tongue swipes across my bottom lip. Without missing a beat, of the music or the actions, my mouth opens slightly and his tongue enters. It's warm and wet and I doubt I'll ever get enough of it. His shades clack against mine, and his hands reach up to carefully remove them without having to lean too far back. As soon as they're off and sitting safely on the desk, my lips are captured again and that tongue is back in my mouth, trailing over every part it can reach. Everything about the kiss is making it difficult to hold in the desperate whimpers that are threatening to spill out. His taste, the warmth of his tongue on mine and completely dominating me, the way his teeth tug at my lips in the barely-there breaks we take to breathe. It all just drags me further into this chaotic whirlwind of wrongness that is just too right for it to ever cross my mind as a truly bad thing.

His fingers slip under my shirt and tug upward, bringing the fabric up and over my head before they dance down my torso tapping out the rhythm of the music that is still blaring from the speakers. I want to, oh how I want to just rip the very clothes off of him, but I'm pretty sure that wouldn't end well. I settle for grasping the bottom edge of his shirt and pulling slightly, letting him know that the damn thing is in my fucking way and needed to be removed as soon as fucking possible. Within seconds, he has the shirt peeled off of his skin and tosses it to some corner of my room before hooking his finger in the waistband of my jeans and teasing the button with his thumbs.

"Now remember... this isn't anything really serious little bro. Just go with what happens." That puts things in perspective for me. Of course. He still thinks that he's proving a point that I've been jealous over him -which I have, but I'm not going to admit it- instead of actually wanting to do this with me. The words sting more than any wound I've ever gotten.

I ignore it, though, because his hands are teasing the zipper down and dragging my pants and boxers off. Resisting the urge to comment on his eagerness, one of my hands travels down his scarred chest to get rid of his pants while the other brings his face back to mine for another kiss.

Bro pulls back slightly from the kiss and stares me down, trailing his mouth across my jaw and down my neck to my clavicle before biting down. He licks and nips his way down my torso and oh god... it feels amazing. That bastard knows just the buttons to press. He's so close. So fucking close to where I want him. And, being the dick that he is, skips over it and starts trailing bites down my thighs.

This seriously can't be happening. I must have passed out, and am having another fantastic dream. 'Cause really, there's no way that Dirk fucking Strider would be doing this otherwise. Right? I can't care less at the moment, though, because the things he's doing with that tongue...

"Oh, god... Bro..." I feel my face heating up all over again. How can he break my mask so easily? Oh, that's right. He's Bro. He can do fucking anything. And right now, he's choosing to move that sinful fucking tongue over the very tip before slipping it past his lips into the warm wetness of his mouth. As he moves his head down, closer to my hips, his tongue goes even lower, tracing the pulsing vein on the underside of my cock, before pulling back up, dragging lips and teeth over the fevered skin and sucking lightly at the tip before repeating it all over again.

I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood in order to keep in the sounds Dirk is drawing from me. I try to keep myself from looking down at him, because I know those ocher eyes will be staring back at me, judging every reaction carefully. My hands tangle carefully in his gelled hair and pull lightly, guiding him despite my brain telling them to stay at my sides. Bro hums at the pressure, though, taking even more of me in and I there's no possible way I can stop my reaction. My hips jerk up, and my hands tug sharply at his hair while my eyes fly open and dart to him. His eyes are closed and - if my eyes aren't screwing me over - there's a light blush across his cheeks. I pull a bit harder, watching his face carefully, and come to a quick decision. Bro's a masochist. Oh, I am not going to let him get away with this.

My hands drop from his hair to his shoulders and my nails dig into his skin. I feel him flinch slightly and then he moans. It's so quiet, I can barely even hear it. The way his throat vibrates during it, though... it's almost too much. I've got to stop this now. I can feel the heat sinking heavily in the pit of my stomach and spreading.

"Ah... Bro.. D-Dirk, please.." His eyes shoot open, and I'm lost in their orange depths, speaking without really thinking about the words tumbling out of my mouth. "Bro, stop.. I'm... nn.. So close.."

Before I'm even done speaking, Dirk pulls his head away, licking the tip with a small smirk on his face. Even though I know it's so I won't finish so early, I still want to go right back into the warmth of Bro's mouth.

He leans up, pressing his mouth to mine again. Taking the initiative, I bite down lightly on his bottom lip and tug it into my mouth, sucking gently. I growl as he leans back, breaking off the kiss and out of fucking nowhere, Bro pulls out a small bottle of lube. Where the hell did he get that, anyway? The lid makes a loud clack as it opens and the next thing I know, the cold liquid is being squeezed out onto my skin and Bro's running a finger through it and circling around over and over again teasing the muscles. I growl silently and push back, forcing it into me. It stings a bit, and feels odd, but that's expected. I glance down to Dirk's face, seeing him analyzing every detail. Another finger is added, and the two spread apart and go deeper inside of me, searching for something but it's just coming out as a steady, burning tingle of pain and pleasure. Not that I really mind. It actually gets me more worked up than I thought was possible.

Bro pulls those damn fingers of his away, and the lube clacks open again. The sensation of the cold liquid on Dirk's warm cock pressing into me is something I doubt I'll ever forget. It stings like hell, even crossing the line to full-blown pain, but it doesn't change the fact that it's _Bro_ doing this to me. The one person I truly love, being my first. I bite down on my lip and the inside of my cheek to keep in the whimpers, but _damn_ if it doesn't hurt. My nails are digging into Bro's shoulders again, harder than before, and I hear the almost growl of pleasure that he's making. He pushes my legs up so my knees are almost touching my shoulders, and fuck I'm glad that I'm flexible from all the training we do or this would probably hurt like hell later on.

Teeth nip at the skin just below my ear and Dirk's voice, still in its laid-back tone, is just the slightest bit breathy. "Loosen up, little man. I don't want to hurt you too much." The way his breath ghosts over my neck sends small shivers racing through all of my nerve endings. I breathe in and focus on relaxing all of the muscles in my body. The pain fades a bit and he moves further immediately.

My breath hitches, the shock of stinging pleasure from the action coursing through me. Finally, his hips pause, Bro's dick buried in me, and his eyes watching my face to find some sort of sign.

Releasing my bloody lip from my clenched teeth, I look back at Dirk and nod slightly, keeping my muscles relaxed as he pulls out most of the way and goes back in a bit faster. The motions repeat, with subtle changes to the angle of his hips each time he drives back into me. One thrust brushes against something inside of me and I can't hold back my body's reaction. Our chests press together as my back arches, a needy moan falling from my lips that sounds too much like Bro's name, and my hands rake down his back hard enough to make thin lines of blood appear.

His hips jerk harshly, putting even more pressure on the bundle of nerves his dick is pressing into, and he leans over me to push his lips against mine. Dirk's tongue takes over my mouth, in a border-line primal display of dominance and possession. I choke back a moan at the thought. Being his... _only_ his... I could get off on that alone. But he's moving faster and harder, and I secretly wonder if he can read my mind, but I'm too lost in pleasure to care.

His mouth moves to my ear and he breathes out just one thing, trying to keep his voice normal but I can tell he's enjoying this just as much as I am. The slight slip in his ever-stoic composure pushes me off the edge as what he says registers in my brain. "Come for me, babe."

My body shivers violently as I come, covering my chest and part of my neck. Dirk moans softly and thrusts a few more times before stilling, and there's a new warmth shooting into me. He pulls out and collapses beside me, letting my legs fall back to the bed. Reaching out to grab a stray cloth -my shirt- I clean myself off before submitting to the exhaustion that's taking over my body.

Through the haze of a half-conscious brain, I feel Bro covering our exhausted bodies with the sheet before turning his back to me and falling asleep. My heart drops and his words come rushing back with even more sting.

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Thanks for reading! I really appreciate it. There will be two more chapters, and they'll hopefully be up pretty soon. Reviews are always welcome, and any flames will be used to make an awesome bonfire for my birthday party.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2! For anyone that doesn't like character death (after having been warned already, I really see no point in doing this, but...) Don't read the rest of this fic. Really. Don't. Just be happy that the previous chapter had the hotness. ALSO! Please forgive that this, and the next, chapter(s) are so short.

Warning: Mature content and language, hence the rating. Also, Dirk is older than Dave. **Character death.**

Disclaimer: I, obviously, am not Andrew Hussie, nor do I claim to be. I've just got a sick little mind that created this story using his characters.

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Track to an Impossible Forever

The sunlight streaming through the window is the thing to wake me up. What gets me up off my ass and worried is the fact that Dave isn't here. Instead, a piece of paper with a note in red ink from Dave is lying on the turntables.

_Bro. I know it's uncool for me to leave this for you, so don't be a dick about it. I'm sick of all this shit. I'm done with the heartbreak. If that really meant nothing, then I guess I have no reason to stay here. Don't worry. A cool kid like me can live on his own. I had wanted more time, but I guess that didn't happen. The one thing I really hate, though, is that I can't really hate you. I despise how you live, how you're always with someone that doesn't deserve you. But whatever.  
__Keep Cal from doing his crazy shit.  
__I... I love you, Bro.  
__Bye.  
__Dave_

The note falls to the floor. That little fucker. He left. I should have known. It's not like he hasn't dropped clues for the past few years. I just never thought anything of it. But that's not what's important. Dave's gone.

Reality practically bitch-slaps me in the face. My little brother, the one that has always looked up to me, is gone. He left. Ran the fuck away. All because of me.

Shit. Why did I have to say that? I know I didn't mean it. What had driven me to saying that Dave letting me take his virginity was nothing important? Was it the fact that I didn't want him to leave? Great job that did. Now, the most important thing in my life is gone. Fuck.

Day after day, I go out, searching the town trying to find him, only to come back to the apartment alone. I'm reminded every time I walk through the door that he isn't here. I'm pushing myself over the edge to insanity, and despite trying to hide it, people notice. I don't eat for days at a time. The music for my shifts are starting to lack. Everyone that comes onto me at the bar just seems absolutely repulsive. Dave was right. They don't know shit about me. They don't deserve me. The one person that did is gone because of me, and nobody can ever take his place.

I can't bring myself to stop, though. I have to keep looking for him. I need to find him and make up for being such an ass to the one steady constant in my life. An apology won't work, I know that much. Dave needs sincerity of actions, not words that could be lies. I've got to make this right between. But I need to find him first. I need to find him_ now_.

I can't take this anymore. I've spent weeks trying to find him. I've checked every bar, record shop, photography business... there were countless times that just ended up with me sitting on the bench of the park he loved to go to as a kid, regretting the entire thing. How could I have fucked up this badly? Every time I was there, for just a second, it felt like Dave was there, too. Standing right behind me, waiting to go back home. Whenever I looked, though, there would only be the grass and treeline.

That's how I got to where I am now. Standing in the middle of Dave's room ready to end it. I look around, seeing the photos he's taken over the years, the albums he's made and the posters that cover the walls. Breathing in deeply, I take my sword and place the tip of the blade at the flesh covering the small gap between the seventh and eighth ribs on my left side. With the angle the sword will be at, the lung will be torn and my heart pierced through, the blade will come out between the T4 and T5 vertebrae... Not an instantaneous death, but that's all right. The pain will be my penance. I press the hilt towards me and the cold metal breaks skin. Focus, Dirk... steady pressure, keep the angle exact... The shock comes, and my body falls forward, knocking my shades off and shoving the katana further, going through the lung. I reach out with a blood-covered hand and grab a picture from Dave's collection. I hold it carefully, desperately, letting silent tears fall as my heart is destroyed by the metal forcing itself through my body.

I think of only one thing as my vision fades and blurs, and blackness creeps into my mind._ I love you, Dave._

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Sorry this chapter was so short... but, thanks for reading! I really appreciate it. There will be one more chapter. Only one. Reviews are always welcome, and any flames will be used to make an awesome bonfire for my birthday party.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3!Thanks to any and every one that has read this fic to its completion. I truly appreciate it. ALSO! Please forgive that this chapter is so short.

Warning: Language. **Character death.**

Disclaimer: I, obviously, am not Andrew Hussie, nor do I claim to be. I've just got a sick little mind that created this story using his characters.

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Track to an Impossible Forever

I hate it. I can't stand how I can't even bring myself to leave. Sure, I walked out of the apartment, the building, the fucking block, but I just can't make myself leave him behind.

I watch him. See him search for me, and I smile, on the inside. He actually paid attention to me. I've followed him through the town, to all the shitty movie shops and music stores, to the bars and to friends' houses. What makes me regret leaving him the most, though, is when he makes his way to that damn park. It's like Dirk is just wanting me to step out from the shadows, to come back. Really, I know that's exactly what he wants. Bro wants me back with him. And I want to go back home. I just... can't. I know that if I go back there, it'll be the same as it was before. He'll come home from late shifts at the bar, smelling of too strong perfume or cologne, covered in small, new bruises from hands and lips that belong to perfect strangers.

That's why I have to fight this. Fight the part of me, the very fucking large part of me, that wants to be like a little kid again so I have a valid excuse for burying my head in his chest and feeling completely safe in his arms, and holy fuck what am I thinking? This shit's gone too far. I've got to just focus on getting by. Living without Bro there for me to depend on, not that I did that too much before.

I can't tell how long it's been since I left. Not anymore. In the beginning I counted every minute, every second, it seemed, wondering why I ever ran off. Now, though, I'm used to it. To the feeling that time just stopped somewhere along the way. I'm alright with that. I'm perfectly cool with being able to go through the hours that I don't realize are dragging on. That is, I was, until I found myself back at that park. For once, the bench Dirk always sat on was empty. There was a piece of paper duct taped to the back, harsh orange ink staring at me.******  
**

_Dave. I'm sorry. I lied. That had meant everything to me. Now, I've driven you off. I regret not telling you sooner. I love you, too, little man. Heh... I had always thought I'd go in some cool, ironic way. Like losing to you in a strife. I guess it's not gonna happen like that, though. Goodbye, little bro. For good._

_Dirk_

What... what did he mean by... No. He couldn't have... BRO!

I've got to find him. I've got to get back. I have to stop him, before it's too late. I can't let him do this. I just can't.

My shoes slap against the pavement as I run down the street, making my way through side alleys and deserted roads to get to our apartment. To get to Bro. My blood is pounding in my ears, and adrenaline rushing through my veins. I finally get to the door of our apartment and find it locked. My heart is still pumping in my ears, I know if I try to get the keys it will only take longer. I kick the door down and rush to Bro's room. I feel my heart beat quicker because his room is empty. Where the hell else could he be? Since I passed the living room, I know he's not there. The door to Dirk's bathroom is open, and it's empty, too. That only leaves...

I run back through the apartment to my room. The door is barely open and I stumble in, desperately hoping what I see isn't real. Slumped over my bed is Bro's body, with one of his shitty katana sticking through him. The angle it's at... He shoved it in through the gap between one of the pairs of false ribs and ruptured his heart. Despite knowing what I'd find, gently I press my hand to his jugular, checking for a pulse and hoping. I had known, though. When I read that message, I knew. There isn't a pulse, and Dirk isn't breathing. I drop to my knees beside him, noticing his hand is still grasping something. I peel his bloody fingers back and look at what he had been holding. It's a picture of Bro and I from last summer. I let my mask break for good. I can feel the tears stinging as they form and slide down my face, falling to mix with Dirk's blood staining the bed and floor. I stand on shaky legs and move behind Bro, wrapping my arms around him as I fall back to my knees. The tip of that damn sword pushes through flesh and works deeper, traveling the five inch distance to get through my heart slowly. After it breaks through skin completely, I feel my body lurch forward, slumping over Bro's.

With my final breaths I tell him, over and over again, that I'll always be with him. I'll always be at his side.

"I'll always love you, Bro."

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Sorry this chapter was so short... but, thanks for reading! I really appreciate it. Reviews are always welcome, and any flames will be used to make an awesome bonfire for my birthday party.


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